


More Than Just A Cocktail

by whoneedsapublisher



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: NB Mordred, Other, Takes place during the first summer event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoneedsapublisher/pseuds/whoneedsapublisher
Summary: The first summer after the Incineration of Humanity was a strange one. On a secluded beach, you and Mordred find each other in an unexpected state.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Mordred | Saber of Red, Reader/Mordred | Saber of Red
Kudos: 12





	More Than Just A Cocktail

Well, it could be worse.

At first, you thought that you’d be telling yourself that in a grimly determined kind of way. Chanting it like a mantra to endure this new challenge, just like you’d fought your way through the singularities. But it quickly became apparently that it really _could_ be worse. A lot worse, in fact. It was less a desperate struggle for survival on in hostile terrain and more of an unusually combat heavy beach vacation with a fun little side dish of resort building. Normally, that would be a struggle enough on its own, but with servants to carry materials and Scathath’s runes to construct things, it was more fun than back-breaking to build your own little house and till fields.

It wasn’t exactly the team you would have picked to be stranded with, although thankfully Blackbeard was already gone. Luckily, though, Mash was keeping Kiyohime at bay, and Diarmund and Fionn seemed to have wandered off into the jungle. And most importantly, the one person you would have picked to be stranded with on a desert island _was_ here.

Mordred.

They were a figure of contrasts. On the one hand, they were brash, rough, and domineering. On the other hand, they were fairly easily flustered, and could be quite cute when they were caught off guard. They were rude and aggressive, yet caring and kind. And here on this beach, they’d become a lot more cute than intimidating.

You’d been happy to see more of that side of them. And as the building plans had grown more ambitious, and your base started to sprawl over the island more, it only made sense that the servants would start to split up more. And obviously, you’d found yourself seeking out Mordred more often than the others, so the two of you had spend some nice days together on the beach, talking and eating watermelon or surfing- or rather, you sitting and watching while they surfed.

Today, though, you hadn’t sought out anyone in particular. Instead, you’d gone to a relatively isolated section of beach, making sure to set up magical wards so that if any enemies drew near you could run and call for a servant. But you’d wanted to relax a little on the beach by yourself, and enjoy the sun.

But when you feel someone cross the perimeter you’d set up, you recognise the magical signature instantly. It isn’t a roaming crab or an angry boar. It’s Mordred.

That’s a little unusual. Since when did they come all the way out here to surf? Normally they’re out on one of the eastern beaches where you’d landed, or cutting through the central river. This is just a little beach tucked away to the west that you’d picked simply because it was out of the way.

Flipping up your sunglasses and sitting up, you glance over at Mordred as they draw closer.

And then your eyes almost bug out of your head.

“Oh hey, Master,” Mordred says, nodding at you. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“I... “ You stammer. “Uh…”

The reason for your sudden lack of eloquence is Mordred’s sudden lack of a top. Rather than the bright red bikini you’re used to, along with a shirt sometimes and even a jacket now and then, Mordred is wearing nothing but the bottom of the bikini, a hair tie, and a wristband, their jacket in one hand dangling lazily over their shoulder.

It’s funny. Only now, when you see the outfit with one item removed, that you realize just how close to naked it’s been all along.

A smirk slides onto Mordred’s face, and you realize that you must be blushing.

“Oh? What’s up, Master? You seem a little flushed. Not gettin’ sunburned or anything, are ya?”

You swear that they’re shifting to give you a better view.

Well fine then, Mordred. Two can play at this game.

“Just didn’t realize you were into the whole topless thing,” You say, reaching behind yourself to untie the string off your own top. Casually, you toss it over your shoulder into your bag. “Nice to be able to cut loose, huh?”

Now it’s Mordred’s turn to flush red, their eyes locking onto your chest with all the subtlety of their normal form’s noble phantasm. Ha.

“Uh, yeah,” Mordred says, trying to keep their cool. “Thought I’d be alone, so I figured, hey, why not, right?”

“Sure,” you say. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, if you’re so casual, then I guess you won’t mind if I remove the rest, will ya?” Mordred challenges.

You fight back a smirk.

A blatant miscalculation. A transparent bluff to get you to back down. But the joke’s on her. You’ve spent your whole time at Chaldea learning to deal with showering with people you’re attracted to, since locker rooms are separated by gender and you _definitely_ have a bit of a thing for some of the female servants. While Mordred is used to Camelot, where they were hiding their body from everyone. When it comes to comfort with mutual nudity, it’s not even close.

“What a good idea!” you say, standing up pulling down your bikini bottom, leaving you in nothing but sunglasses and a sun hat. Mordred’s jaw practically drops at the sight. “Feel free.”

“Shit,” Mordred curses under their breath, but they refuse to back down, recognizing that you’ve out maneuvered them. They undo their bikini bottom as well, kicking it off defiantly as if to dare you to call them out on their embarrassment. You feel no need to. “Well, whatever. I’m gonna go surf. See ya, Master.”

Hastily, they beat a retreat to the shoreline, practically sprinting to get out of this situation. Smirking, you settle back onto your chair and raise the back so that you can recline while watching the show. You already enjoy watching Mordred surf. Watching them do it naked is a nice new bonus.

Mordred, to their credit, seems to be pretty comfortable once they’re out on the waves. Maybe it’s just because they think you can’t get a particularly detailed from view from your spot, or they’re just too engaged with the surfing to care. But you’re getting quite the show. So much so that after ten minute or so, you’re starting to squirm a little.

They’re just  _ so hot _ . Rather than them surfing making their nudity mundane, it actually makes it hotter. How little they care. Their exposed muscles flexing as they cut across the wave. God, it’s amazing.

So you decide that Mordred deserves a show as well.

Rising from your seat, you stretch out your arms above your head. Already, you notice Mordred’s eyes on you, their head turning from the waves to glance over at you. You have every intention of giving them something worth looking at.

If you weren’t so horny right now, you’re pretty sure you’d never have the confidence to show yourself off like this. But with your head clouded with arousal, your judgement is juuust impaired enough not to think too hard about how embarrassing this is.

You start off easy. Just some basic warmup stretches, the kind you do before working out. You try not glance over at Mordred too much, but now and again you catch them sneaking glances at you, distracted from the waves by your antics. A cheeky little grin flashing your face, your turn your back to the water and bend over, spreading your legs as you reach down to touch your toes.

There’s a huge splash from behind you. Peeking between your legs, you see Prydwyn being tossed around by the waves, its rider absent. Looks like Mordred got a little _too_ distracted.

As you straighten up, Prydwyn and Mordred wash up on shore. There’s murder in Mordred’s eyes as they pick up the board and stalk away from the water, flinging the board aside. Prydwyn embeds itself a full foot into the sand, vibrating with the force of Mordred’s throw.

“ _ You _ ,” Mordred hisses, stalking closer.

“Something wrong?” You ask innocently.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Just some stretches,” you say, trying to do your best to look completely sincere. The fury in Mordred’s eyes grows more intense.

“You little bitch,” they growl. “You think you can just play around with me?”

Roughly, Mordred grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you down onto the blanket you’d laid out on the sand earlier, straddling you and roughly capturing your lips.

Just as you’d predicted.

With all the time you’d spent with Mordred, you’d started to suspect something about them. For all their tough exterior, for all their crude remarks, the big bad Knight of Treachery was very bad with feelings. And romantic feelings most of all.

They aren’t a bad kisser, exactly, but they’re definitely not very experienced. You, on the other hand,  _ are _ . It’s not long before you’ve completely overwhelmed them, taking control of the kiss and holding their face to stop them trying to run away. When you pull back for breath, the dynamic has completely changed. Mordred may still be straddling you, but they’re dazed and flushed, their anger and aggression completely drained away.

You put one hand firmly on their hip.

“My king,” you say softly. “Let me touch you.”

They manage to nod, and you take it as an invitation to do what you’ve  _ wanted  _ to do since they first wandered onto your private beach- you reach up and gently cup their breasts.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, waiting to see if they react with fury, but when they don’t, you start to gently stroke and fondle them, taking in the incomparable of feeling of their skin in your hands, still wet from the surf. It’s almost impossible how soft it is, with how battle hardened they are. You slid one hand down to their rock hard abs just to enjoy the contrast, your fingers brushing against their soft breasts and then their firm stomach in turn. Their nipples are starting to harden under your attentions, and you take one between two fingers and roll it gently, smiling at the little grunt it provokes.

“The hell are you doing,” Mordred says, trying to sound tough but unable to stop their voice from wavering a little. “Trying to give me a relaxin’ little massage or something? Didn’t know you were running a health clinic.”

Mordred, Mordred, Mordred… it’s like they just have no idea how to ask for things nicely. Oh well. You can’t say you mind.

You slip a hand between their legs and they bite their lip so hard you’re afraid they’re going to draw blood as they fight to stifle their reaction. It’s cute, but they can’t fool you. Your fingers are on their pussy, and there’s a wetness starting to gather that is definitely too sticky to be seawater dripping off their body. One hand still on their chest, you start a gentle rhythm between their legs, slowly increasing in speed as your thumb grows teasingly closer to their clit.

“Stop being such a fucking tease,” Mordred growls. “You think I can’t handle it rough? Put some goddamn fingers inside me, already.”

“As you command, your majesty,” you say, slipping a finger up into them, and then a second. They jolt and let out a moan despite themselves.

“Fuuuck…” they groan, as you start to move your fingers, still stroking them as you do. As you gain speed, their breathing grows more laboured, their moans even more poorly concealed as they start to let words slip out. Mostly profanity.

Soon, their hips are buckling against your hand needily as you start to push into the final stretch, your thumb finally reaching their clit and brushing it lightly. It isn’t long before they peak, crying out in a way that’s primal and triumphant as they thrust so hard against you that it knocks the wind out of you for a second, before their body spasms and they clumsily fall off you onto the blanket.

Rubbing your stomach, you sit up to see them sprawled out on their back, their chest heaving with their breath, and their thighs stained with a mixture of salt water and their own fluids.

The sight is hot enough to remind you that your own needs are becoming increasingly pressing.

Moving to your hands and knees, you scoot yourself over Mordred, and position your knees on either side of their head they catch their breath and glance up at you.

“A good king serves their people, you know,” you say, and lower yourself onto Mordred’s face.

They don’t disappoint. Their tongue is eager and hungry, and you’re quickly panting yourself, clinging tightly to their hair as you ride their face. You’re not sure if it takes longer than it took Mordred, but it’s not long before you find yourself teetering on the edge and press yourself into Mordred’s mouth, moaning out their name as they push you over the edge and your thighs lock against their head and your vision goes fuzzy at the edges.

It feels like you cum for a long time, Mordred’s tongue drawing out your pleasure for as long as possible, but when it finally subsides you clumsily sit back, resting on Mordred’s chest. They look up at you with a hard to read expression on their face. A mixture of embarrassment and triumph. A blend of affection and resentment.

When you can move your legs again, you roll off of them and curl up beside them. They begrudgingly wrap an arm around you, looking almost more embarrassed about that small display of affection than their were about shoving their tongue between your legs.

“Mordred,” you say, happily, in a voice that you can just tell is dripping with saccharin affection, the afterglow more than obvious.

“Hmph,” they mumble.

“That was nice,” you say.

“‘S alright,” they concede.

“Wanna do it again?”

“God damn, woman, right now?” Mordred asks, their eyes widening.

You ponder for a moment. “Mmm, give it five minutes,” you say.

Mordred sighs in resignation. “Go figure that of all the masters to survive the Incineration of Humanity, it’s gotta be the horniest,” they grumble.

“You love it,” you say, and they grumble indistinctly but don’t deny it. Your heart speeds up a little at that. You weren’t really sure if it was true as you were saying it, but now you’re positive it is, and it’s the best news you’ve had all day.

It can’t last forever, of course. It’s afternoon now, but soon evening will come, and if you don’t make your way back to the camp people will come looking for you, and you’re pretty sure that if Kiyohime finds you and Mordred like this there’s no way all three of you will be alive by the morning. But for now, you’re happy to cuddle up to your favourite knight and ponder what exactly you’re going to do in round two to make sure that they won’t mind if you start inviting yourself into their room back at Chaldea.

Things _definitely_ could be worse.


End file.
